A Christmas Toast
by Stembuk
Summary: Christmas: A time of reflection, of remembering family and loved ones no longer with you...


_Ever since he had come into the family, it had been there. So long as he was there – in person, or just in their memories – it would still be._

The year had been full of triumph and tragedy. The war had been won by the last action of a missed friend, a missed comrade and brother. An absence that even now cut them to the core, no matter the brave face worn by the family. Each, privately, had wet their pillows for weeks afterwards, each finding their own way to continue.

From the first night the young orphan had been brought into their home, she had been the one to look after him. There were just the four of them, then – the youngest yet to be found – and had taken it upon herself to take care of him, his brothers already starting to look after their selves. She still remembered sitting against his locked door for nights on end, listening to him crying his self to sleep and the tortured dreams that would come with it, his heartbreaking cries for his parents ripping her heart apart.

It had been when the man they all viewed – but none would admit – as their father had taken a trip to clear the old home that she had been taken along, so that – he claimed – she could see for herself what they were going to be fighting for, that she had first seen it. Roughly kicked under a bed, it's glinting red ribbon had first caught her eye as the others slowly tidied the place, placing both items and memories into boxes labeled with numbers and letters, to be stored away in a warehouse someplace. It was pure instinct that had her slip it into a pocket mere moments before their father had stepped back into the room, looking at the mess and muttering that like Vultures, Galactor couldn't even leave the dead alone.

The thing that she had done on impulse turned out to be the same thing that brought him out of his shell. That holiday season, she had sneaked down earlier than the others and placed it under the tree where it would be found. He was usually the first up, diligently working through his chores without complaint – without showing any emotion – before going to the gym, or the Dojo or the firing range for hours on end, with a single minded determination that she found slightly scary.

Making herself breakfast, she heard him come downstairs, into the room, and then stop. Then, slowly, his footsteps approached the tree and stopped, and she heard the rustle of packages moving.

After that, there was no sound at all.

Curious, she peered around the door, to see him with his head bowed with his already long hair covering his face, slowly turning the gift over and over in his hands. Something – she never knew what – caused him to look at her.

The look of sheer loss on his face was enough to send her hurrying across the room to wrap him in her arms, to hold him close while he finally – _finally_ – allowed himself to let it out: all the pain he had been carrying since that day on the beach. Her shirt slowly became soaked with his tears as the two of them stood there, forming a bond that would never break, a love that went deeper than anything and anyone the two would ever encounter.

When the rest of the family had wandered down that morning, the two boys tugging their father, the two were still there in the middle of the floor. Silently, she beckoned them over, and the five of them had stood together for a good half hour, finally able to properly welcome the newest member of the family into their home.

It hadn't been a noisy day, or even a busy one – but it had been the most memorable.

As for the present, it had never been opened. Every year, she got up early to place it under the tree – and every year, he had risen early to share a private, special moment with her.

This year, she was determined, would be no different. Even if he was... even if he _wasn't here in person to share it_, she was going to continue the tradition.

_Their_ tradition.

Waking early, she carefully placed the now much older, much worn gift under the tree, before pouring herself a mug of mulled wine and crossing to a window, wiping the condensation aside with a palm. Raising the mug, she tilted it against the glass, as if making a toast, and whispered a half dozen words before she had to fight back her tears.

'Merry Christmas, Joe. We miss you.'


End file.
